


The Second Road

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, T. J. Hooker (TV)
Genre: Beating, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Police Procedural, Shooting, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1983 Leonard Nimoy guest-starred on T.J. Hooker with William Shatner, in an episode entitled “Vengeance Is Mine”, where he played Lieutenant Paul Maguire.  So of course, it was only natural to envision a K/S relationship between Hooker & Maguire…!</p><p>Hooker and Maguire are on routine patrol when they find themselves in a bad situation – out in the back-country, pinned down by brutal unknown assailants, wounded and with no radio contact.</p><p>Final – Chapter 5:  Sensually Hooker’s freed hand pushed up beneath Maguire’s shirt, found its way up to bare flesh above the rib-binding, squeezed and stroked, while his lower body squirmed to maneuver beneath Maguire’s covering body.  With his tongue Maguire prodded at Hooker’s lips, then slid inside a warm wet inviting mouth, slid in and out, in and out, tasted, licked…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I just got one question,” Sergeant T.J. Hooker remarked to his passenger as the patrol car rumbled down the interstate slightly over the speed limit. “How can you stand to be cooped up all day like that?”

Detective Lieutenant Paul Maguire glanced away from the pavement for a quick second to toss Hooker a questioning glance. “Like what?”

“Like that nice quiet office you live in. Steel, glass all around you. Man, don’t you want to ride out in the fresh air, feel the wind in your face, commune with Nature, y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah. But I’ve got a question for you.” Maguire smirked. “All you blue-suits communing with Nature: how do you get used to weather like this?”

Hooker’s gaze lifted to the thick mass of black clouds obscuring any glint of sky. “Practice, my man, practice.”

“Hey, and keep your eyes on the road, or I’ll have to write you a ticket for reckless driving.”

“You do, and I’ll kick you out, make you ride my baton back to the Precinct.”

“Ooh!” Maguire groaned. “Let’s not get nasty now.”

Three cars ahead and one lane over, a brown Mercedes abruptly cut across two lanes of traffic, narrowly missing a red VW, then shot ahead, accelerating a good twenty-five miles over the speed limit. Indignantly the beetle honked.

“You see that?” Maguire alerted.

Already Hooker was reaching for the light-bar switch. “I see it.” As soon as traffic opened up, he put the pedal to the floor, and began maneuvering toward the offending vehicle.

The Mercedes’ driver didn’t see them until they pulled up alongside. Then suddenly he recognized the black-and-white pacing him, and jammed on the brakes to slow back down below 55. Hooker stayed with the Mercedes, while Maguire motioned the driver over, then the patrol car dropped back to follow.

Maguire shook his head wearily in reaction to the Mercedes’ abrupt deceleration. Put on the brakes real quick, and maybe the nice officers won’t know you were speeding. Only trouble was, at least eighty-percent of speeders tried that tactic, and well, nice cops just weren’t so gullible anymore.

Within another tenth of a mile, the Mercedes pulled over onto the shoulder. Hooker parked the patrol car about fifteen feet to the rear, then got out and walked toward the driver’s door. Maguire took his position beside the squad car.

The encounter seemed to be under control. The driver was the only occupant. He was a kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen. The car looked to be in good condition, maybe an ’86 or ’87, worth a good twenty-five-grand at least. Where would a sixteen-year-old pick up twenty-five-grand?

Hooker returned to the black-and-white with the kid’s license and registration.

“What’s up?” Maguire questioned. “Possible stolen?”

Hooker just shrugged. “No. Kid’s name’s Nicholas Weyerhaus. It’s his dad’s car. Say if he doesn’t get it back home by eight o’clock, he’ll catch hell.”

“Did you tell him if he keeps driving like that, he’ll catch more than hell?”

“Didn’t have to. He was telling me. I just agreed with him.”

Hooker finished writing the citation while Maguire kept watch on the vehicle. Every few moments the kid turned around in his seat to see what was going on in the police car. Then Hooker took the ticket to the kid, and Maguire got back in the cruiser.

They’d been on patrol for little more than half-an-hour, and already they’d made three stops. Gonna be a busy night.

“Y’know,” Hooker commented as he climbed back into the car, “I don’t like the look of those clouds. It’s gonna open up within the hour, I bet. I think I’ll go back to the station and pick up my rain gear – I should’ve thought to bring it with me. You want yours?”

Maguire grinned. “What do I need rain gear for? I’m just going to stay in your warm dry car and let you make all the stops. Hell, when I was a blue-suit, I never made stops on rainy nights.”

Hooker didn’t glance at his partner, as he maneuvered back into the traffic flow. “I knew there was a good reason why they kicked you upstairs.”

Maguire just made a face.

At the next overpass, Hooker turned around onto the southbound freeway. It was probably twenty miles back to the Precinct. They’d both get their rain gear, then probably continue on south to the end of their beat, then head back up north again. Maguire sure hoped Hooker was wrong about the clouds. For the last week it had been raining off and on, and then at night fog would roll in off the ocean, and Southern California drivers drove crazy in fog and rain. There had been so many freeway accidents that the CHP had requested LCPD assistance, so to meet the demand, LCPD had to pull non-uniformed personnel off any less-than-critical cases and put them into cars along with regular patrol. And everyone hoped for a let-up, but the weatherman wouldn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep. Already today there had been two multi-vehicle pile-ups on the mid-town freeway for the previous shift to clean up, and Maguire was in no mood to copy them tonight.

“Hey,” he interrupted his partner’s silence with a grin. “Just like old times, isn’t it, Hooker?”

Hooker returned the grin. “Yeah. What’s it been – fifteen years? – since we shared a car.”

“At least that. Y’know we’re considered legends by the new kids coming out of the Academy these days.”

“Well, we certainly had our share of good busts.” Hooker relaxed back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. You know, I gave you the best ten years of my life. We were closer than an old married couple.”

“Yeah,” Maguire agreed, then the grin faded from his face and he looked at Hooker’s profile beside him. “We could’ve been even closer, if you’d wanted to.”

Hooker glanced his way, hazel eyes warm. “I know. But the last time you brought that up, we were both married. It wouldn’t have been fair to Fran or Sharon, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Maguire agreed, staring out the windshield. Then in a change of mood, he suggested, “Say, speaking of Fran, do you two ever get together anymore, do anything with the kids?”

“Sometimes – why?”

“You remember that girl I was dating when we were both going through the Academy – Leila?”

“Leila Kalomi, that cute little Hawaiian? Academy was twenty-eight years ago, don’t tell me she still carries a torch for an old man like you.”

“That cute little Hawaiian is now a grandmother four times over – and she’s still cute. Anyway, we ran into each other a couple of weeks ago. She owns a cabin up in Big Bear, and she invited me to come up whenever I wanted, bring some friends. I just thought you and Fran and the kids might like to get out of town for awhile. Leila says she’s been wanting to get out of the city or she’ll go loony. Sooo… rain or shine, we’re going up to Big Bear this weekend. Sound interesting?”

Hooker shrugged back in his seat, hands loose on the steering wheel. “Eh, I dunno, I mean, it’s bad enough bein’ cooped up in a squad car with you, five rainy nights in a row. Forty-eight hours straight in a rain-soaked cabin, I think _I’d_ go loony.”

Maguire just shrugged it off. “Yeah, but with Leila and Fran there, we’ve got better things to do than just look at each other.”

“Yeah, you got a point there.” Hooker grinned. “Sure, I’ll give Fran a call, let you know if she can make it. Been a long time since we went to the lake.”

“Great. You’ll love it. Get away from the city traffic and smog…”

“Hey, there’s almost as much smog in Big Bear these days.”

“Yeah, but it’s mountain smog.”

Hooker groaned. “There’s a difference?”

Erratic movement in his side mirror suddenly caught Maguire’s eye. He sat up straight. “Hey, Hooker,” he announced. “Looks like we got a deuce comin’ up on us from behind.”

Hooker checked the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, we sure do. He’s coming up fast.”

The white Mustang was doing close to eighty in their lane. It weaved several times as it gained on the patrol car.

“You better move over,” Maguire suggested uneasily. “He’s gonna climb right up our tailpipe.”

But as the Ford neared them, it slowed to match the cruiser’s speed, then began flashing its headlights: high – low – high – low – high – low.

Hooker glanced into the rear-view mirror again. “Hey, he’s no deuce – he’s got something to tell us.” Then kicking on the right-turn indicator, he moved the car off the roadway. The Mustang pulled in behind.

The Ford’s driver was hurrying toward the Dodge before Hooker and Maguire opened their doors. He was middle-aged, white hair and moustache, wearing a grey double-breasted suit. He approached Hooker’s door. “Officers, please…”

Maguire stepped out onto the shoulder. “Would you step over here, please, sir, out of the traffic?”

The man went over to Maguire’s side. He was sweating, trembling, breathless, obviously half-scared out of his wits. “Officer, there are some crazy guys back there, with guns!”

“Back where?”

“The rest-stop back there.” The man pointed north. “I was pulling out of the parking lot, when these two punks in a station-wagon blocked the road. I yelled at them to move, and one of them pointed a gun at me. They were laughing like they were crazy. I think they’re on something. Then they moved enough for me to get by, but when I drove past, the idiot put a bullet through my door. They’re nuts!”

While Maguire stepped back to check the man’s car door, Hooker leaned across the front seat to talk to the man. “Can you give us a description of the station wagon and the men, sir?”

The man was breathing hard. “Yeah, it’s an old Chevy – ’58 or ’59, I think – green mostly but a lot of big rust spots like it was being repainted but nobody finished the job, just let it rust.”

”Did you get the license number?”

“No. No, when they shot at me, I just got the hell outta there, I didn’t think to look at the license number.”

“That’s all right, sir. What did the men look like?”

“Oh, they were young guys.”

“How young? Kids?”

“No, early twenties, I guess. I didn’t pay close attention.”

“Were they white? Black? Hispanic?”

“White. The guy that shot at me was wearing a denim jacket, but that’s all I saw. Can’t you do something with that?”

“We’ll try, sir,” Hooker assured. “Do you have any idea which way they were headed? Do you know if they followed you from the rest-stop?”

“I don’t know which way there were headed, but they were just coming in as I was leaving. They might still be there.”

Maguire returned to the patrol car and stuck his head in the passenger side window. “Yeah, there’s a bullet hole in the driver’s-side door, about four inches from the bottom of the window frame. Looks like a .38 maybe.”

The man seemed relieved. “Well, I hope you get those guys before they kill someone. They were acting crazy. They really must be hopped up or something.”

“We’ll do our best,” Maguire promised, then took out his notebook. “Before you go, sir, could I have your name and address? We’ll want to see later if we can retrieve the slug from your car door.”

”So you can match it with the gun, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sure, my name is Arthur Levanston, and I live in Bakersfield.”

While the man conferred with Maguire, Hooker reached for the radio mike. “LC-15, 4-Adam-30, we have report of shots fired at the Tierra Verde rest-stop on I-5 South. Suspects are two males, early twenties in a green ’58 or ’59 Chevy station wagon. No plate number available. Last seen at the rest-stop.” He released the transmit button, and waited for Dispatch’s confirmation. None came. The dispatcher communicated with other cars, but did not reply to his transmission. He tried again. “LC, 4-Adam-30, do you copy?”

Maguire climbed back into the car, after sending Arthur Levanston on his way. “What’s wrong?” he inquired.

“Oh, the radio’s acting up again, just like it did last night.” Hooker switched channels. “LC, 4-Adam-30, do you copy?”

“4-Adam-30, we copy,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the radio. “Proceed with…” Static overwhelmed the transmission.

“Hell,” Maguire muttered to himself.

“We have report of shots fired at the Tierra Verde rest-stop on I-5 South. We’re going to check it out.”

Static. “… Adam, 10-4.”

Maguire shook his head, shot a glance at his partner. “I told you yesterday we should report it. This is a hell of a time for the radio to go out on us.”

Hooker was maneuvering across four lanes of traffic to U-turn through the weed-covered divider strip. “Yeah, but after awhile last night it worked fine, and I checked to see if anyone today had written it up, and they hadn't. And it checked out fine in the barn an hour ago. So I figured it was just a little glitch yesterday, and everything’s okay.”

A deprecating sound escaped Maguire’s lips. “Well, so what do you want to do now?”

“Well, I think we should at least check out the rest-area. The Chevy’s probably long gone by now, but maybe somebody saw a license number or something. See if we can get some kind of a lead. And don’t worry about the radio. This is just how it acted last night. And it finally cleared up.”

“Famous last words. Hooker, I can’t even hear the dispatcher now.” Maguire gestured toward the radio, from which emanated a flow of static, broken every few seconds by a fragment of unintelligible transmission. He adjusted the gain-control, switched to a repeater station.   “How are we going to call for back-up if we need it?”

Hooker didn’t answer, as he drove up the ramp leading to the rest area.

The weed-spotted area with rustic facilities lay at the top of a rise. Twelve, maybe fifteen scattered cars were parked in the stalls; and several small clusters of people sat at picnic tables or waited by the two outhouses, or stood by their cars.

Slowly the Dodge rolled up and down the rows of vehicles. Volkswagens, Plymouths, Fords – one Chevy sedan – but no green 1959 Chevy station-wagon.

“Well,” Maguire mused, “Looks like we missed them. Let’s ask around for witnesses…”

“Wait a minute,” Hooker interrupted. “Wait a minute. What have we got over here?”

In the far corner of the rest-area, parked all by itself in a stand of brush, stood a green late-50’s Chevy station-wagon, with huge rust patches on the hood and right front fender.

“Bingo,” Maguire breathed.

The front seat was empty: the Chevy’s occupants had either ditched the car, or maybe were visiting the little boys’ room.

Maguire directed his spotlight on the front license plate.

Hooker thumbed the mike button. “LC, 4-Adam-30. 10-28,29, California license Nora-Ida-Mary-One-Niner-Three.”

This time the dispatcher’s voice cut through the white noise. “4-Adam-30, Nora-Ida-Mary-One-Niner-Three. Stand by.”

“10-4.”

“So far so good,” Maguire commented, keeping a watch on the outhouses across the lot.

“It’ll be okay,” Hooker assured.

“4-Adam-30,” the radio crackled again. “Nora-Ida-Mary-One-Niner-Three. Registered to Michael Henry Thompson, 8-2-6 Bay…” A burst of static overwhelmed the rest of the message.

Hooker waited for the noise to quiet before he spoke again. “LA, 10-9 all after 8-2-6.”

Static drowned out the beginning of the repeat. “… -6 Bayview Drive, San Clemente. No wants or warrants.”

“10-4.” Hooker hung up the mike.

Maguire scribbled the info on a notepad, then indicated the outhouses by a nod to the side. “What say we take a stroll over there, see who comes out?”

“Okay,” Hooker agreed. “You take the right, I’ll take the left.”

They got out and started for the twin facilities. But before they had gotten half-way, the rumble of the station-wagon’s engine starting up interrupted them, and they jerked around to see a guy in a denim jacket run from the brush and jump into the passenger side. Metal flashed beneath the open jacket like a pistol jammed into his waistband. The driver was already behind the wheel, and as Hooker and Maguire raced back to their vehicle, the two guys hooted, and the passenger yelled something, accompanying his pronouncement with a obscene gesture. Then the Chevy squealed out in a spray of mud, and roared off toward the exit.

The cruiser’s doors slammed shut, as Hooker jammed the key into the ignition. “Damn, they must’ve been watching us from the bushes all along!” Stomping on the accelerator, he wheeled off after the Chevy, full lights and siren.

Maguire grabbed the mike. “LC, 4-Adam-30, Pursuing Nora-Ida-Mary-One-Niner-Three northbound I-5 north of the Tierra Verde rest-stop. Suspicion of illegal discharge of firearm. Request back-up.”

No response.

“LC, do you copy?”

He switched frequencies again. “LC, come in please. 4-Adam-30 requests assistance northbound I-5. Do you copy?”

Nothing. Just the buzz of indifferent static.

Hooker aimed the black-and-white through the gaps in the traffic. “Y’know,” he suggested, “maybe they can hear us, even if we can’t hear them.”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

As an empty stretch of roadway opened up, the Chevy accelerated away from them. Hooker stepped on the gas, pushing the cruiser up to seventy, seventy-five, eighty. The highway traffic had thinned out considerably as the grade began to climb up into the Angeles mountains, and the station- wagon and the police car maneuvered through it with ease. Eighty-five, ninety.

“Hooker, we’d better call it off,” Maguire insisted. “There’s no back-up coming. We’re nuts to take this on without back-up.”

”Maybe Dispatch heard us,” Hooker repeated.

“Hooker…”

Suddenly the station-wagon veered off the roadway onto the gravel shoulder, then turned onto an adjoining old fire-road. Mud and gravel sprayed out from beneath vehicle, and for an instant the rear tires spun in the mud before regaining traction, then the car lurched forward again and took off.

Hooker slowed down to take the turn, but the ground was slippery, and for a moment the cruiser’s rear end lost traction and slid in a yaw across the tire ruts left by the Chevy. Deftly Hooker steered out of the skid, then hit the gas pedal again. By now the Chevy had gained several car-lengths on them.

The dirt road wound up into the hills, sometimes at a sharp climb. Weeds had overgrown the little-used path, and rocks lay scattered in the roadway. Both vehicles had difficulty maneuvering, neither able to gain much on the other.

Finally, about a mile in, when the muddy road and the overgrowing vegetation got to be too much for an ordinary passenger car to handle, the Chevy braked abruptly and both doors flew open. The two occupants piled out, laughing, giggling, and ran toward the brush on either side.

The cruiser squealed to a stop behind the station-wagon, and from the car Hooker yelled, “Halt where you are! Get your hands up!” He was halfway out the door when the driver-suspect turned, revolver in hand, and fired off a shot. The red flood on the light bar exploded right by Hooker’s head, some of the splintered plastic striking him on the side of the face, and the gunman hooted again. Hooker hunkered down and returned fire. Maybe one shot grazed them man – he flinched – but instead of falling, he plunged off into the overgrowth. Hooker ran after him.

Maguire reached to unlock the shotgun. Instantly two shots shattered the windshield. Hurriedly he dived out of the car, without the gun, then drawing his sidearm, scrambled into the brush after the passenger suspect.

Another shot. It thunked into the side of the patrol car. Maguire spread-eagled into the mud. Several yards away came the sounds of a body crashing through the brush. Revolver in hand, Maguire scrambled after it.

Gunshots reported some distance away down a rise on the other side of the road where Hooker had chased his man. Maguire wondered whose fire that was, he wondered if Hooker was hit. The thought distracted him momentarily.

Pain exploded in his right side, tumbling him to the ground, and then he heard the blast of gunfire.

_to be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hooker and Maguire are on routine patrol when they find themselves in a bad situation – out in the back-country, pinned down by brutal unknown assailants, wounded and with no radio contact.
> 
> New – Chapter 2: “Freeze, pig!” the voice growled. “Or I’ll blow your goddamn brains all over the place!” A metallic clack of a shotgun shell racking into the chamber. Maguire froze. He could feel the gunman’s aim trained right on the back of his head, and his imagination taunted him with a projection of the impact of the shotgun’s blast taking off his head.

Shock and surprise distorted his face as he lay there, feeling zags of pain burn up and down his side and down his gun arm. Moisture welled in his eyes.

But then after a few moments, the initial shock passed and he realized he wasn’t dead or even badly disabled. Shifting the revolver to his left hand, he clambered warily, stiffly, to his knees. A hot poker of pain stabbed him again, and he winced. He looked down at the wound. A bloody rip about three inches long creased the side of his shirt. Maybe the slug had gouged out a couple inches of flesh just beneath the ribs, but that’s all it seemed to be. He prayed that’s all it was.

He stopped momentarily to regain his bearings and listen for any sounds of disturbance in the brush. Nothing but a breeze rustling leaves. Either the suspect had run off and was long gone, or he was hiding in the brush nearby waiting to finish the job on one lone cop.

Maguire decided his best chance for survival lay in returning to the car and retrieving the shotgun. Watching the shadows in the scrub for signs of movement, he limp-ran back to the cruiser.

The shotgun was missing from its brace.

Maguire jerked around to cast a quick glance across the area. Had Hooker come up and taken the gun? If not, then it was in the possession of one of the suspects, and he and Hooker were screwed. Where was Hooker? Was any back-up coming?   And where were the gunmen now?

And who had the shotgun?

Maguire’s eyes scanned the brush down the hill where Hooker had disappeared with his half of the suspect pair. Tendrils of haze drifted up the rise. After the gunshots down there several minutes before, there had been no further sound, but neither Hooker nor the suspect had emerged. Meanwhile, Maguire had lost track of his own man.

Now he was really getting concerned. Darkness would soon settle in, Hooker could be dead or wounded, one or both suspects could be stalking him now, and he was completely alone without even radio communication. Pain throbbed in his side.

He hunched behind the open right front door of the cruiser, revolver in one hand, mike in the other. “LC, 4-Adam-30, come in,” he hissed over the radio, concerned that someone else might hear if he spoke too loud. “Come in, LC, please come in!” Static. His gaze darted around the surround­ing area, catching every movement in the dead grass, sizing up any possible chance that the gunmen were trying to sneak up on him. He wished like hell he had a better view of the area on the other side of the car. He wished like hell his own man hadn't gotten away from him.

Reaching for the radio knobs, he switched channels to the nearest repeater-station. “LC, 4-Adam-30, come in please!”

A trickle of fear-sweat dribbled between his eyes. Hastily he wiped an arm across his fore­head The fear had settled into a steady squeezing in his gut. Cops died in situations like this.

He switched to the car-to-car frequency. “This is 4-Adam-30. Any unit in the area, please come in. Any unit in the area, please respond!” He released the transmit button and waited. Silence. He tried again. “This is 4-Adam-30. 11-99. Somebody please…”

“Freeze, pig!”

Maguire’s heart leapt. Despite himself, he released a startled moan. Muscles tensed with a rush of adrenalin, and he started to spin around.

“I said, freeze, pig!” the voice growled again. “Or I’ll blow your goddamn brains all over the place!” A metallic clack of a shotgun shell racking into the chamber.

Maguire froze. The man was just a couple of feet behind him.

“All right, now drop the gun.”

Incidents from Academy training flashed through Maguire’s mind in horrible mocking clarity. Rôle-playing, hostage situations. How many times had he or Hooker or some other instructor admon­ished the numerous crops of inexperienced faces: 85% of the officers who’d surrendered their wea­pons were later executed – many with their own guns. Do any­thing you have to do, but never give up your gun. But right now he could feel the gunman’s aim trained right on the back of his head, and his imagination taunted him with a projection of the impact of the shotgun’s blast taking off his head, and he was almost tempted to surrender if there was even just a fifteen percent chance of saving his life.

He wondered what kind of chance he’s have dropping to the ground, rolling and firing. It wasn’t very good. For protection, he had squatted between the car body and the open passenger door; however, instead of protecting him, it now trapped him, and the man behind had a perfect unobstruc­ted bead right on his head.

Something to divert the man’s attention, take him off-guard, give Maguire an extra second to dive from the line of fire.

“Well, c’mon, you damn stupid cop, I said drop your gun!”

Instead Maguire looked to left as though he saw someone, and yelled, “Hey, Hooker, watch out!” Then abruptly he dived to the right, away from the car, rolled and came up firing. One shot took the man in the face, another in the chest; and the man’s body jerked back, sprawled back on the ground, and lay still.

A trembling sweating Paul Maguire sat in the dirt. He grabbed deep moaning breaths of relief, feeling his heart pound against his chest, feeling his side throb with pain, feeling the blood-soaked mater­ial slide greasily against his skin. Blood leaked down his side, oozed down his right trouser leg. He won­dered how much he’s lost already. God why won’t it stop? He didn’t want to die. The pain was worse now than it had been right after the shooting. He could feel it in his crotch, like a hand squeez­ing his testicles… _please make it stop god please make it stop_.

Slowly he realized that sitting still actually increased the pain. All the time he’d been up and moving, he hadn't noticed the hurt – his mind had been pre-occupied with the gunman. However, moving around also increased the blood loss. He had to stanch the flow somehow. He thought about taking his shirt off and using it as a pressure bandage, but he couldn’t work his right arm well enough to get the jacket and shirt off. So, holding his left hand on the gash, he staggered weakly to his feet.

His legs shook helplessly, and he had to lean against the roof of the cruiser for awhile, just dragging in air, blinking back wetness in his eyes so he could see. In the ten years that he and Hooker had partnered together, and in the fifteen years that he’d been in Detectives, he’d been in three honest-to-god shoot-outs. It wasn’t like television at all with a standard ‘shoot-out-of-the-week’. He’d been damn lucky those three times, but the one time it had gone down when he was with Hooker, Hooker had taken two slugs to the belly and had been laid up for seven weeks of misery. Television never showed that part of it, either.

He thought he might throw up. His mind played and re-played with increasing intensity, the death-sound of the shotgun shell racking into the chamber. And over and over he saw himself sprawled face-down in the muck, the back of his head blown away by the double-ought blast.

“Gddd!” he cried abruptly, then caught himself. He couldn’t let the pain abuse his mind, he had to get control of himself. He wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t going to die.

Slowly the fear sickness in his belly gave way to adrenalin exhaustion, and he just wanted to climb into the back seat of the cruiser and collapse.   But the fight wasn’t over yet. There was no time to rest.

One man was down, but another was still up, and Hooker was nowhere in sight. Was he dead? If he wasn’t dead, then why hadn't he reappeared yet? And where was the other suspect? Was he still down with Hooker, or was he up now looking for Maguire?

Another outburst of movement and noise from down below. Maguire prayed it was Hooker. After grabbing the shotgun from the dead gunman’s hand, he scuffed down the muddy rise toward the commotion, pressing his right elbow tight against his wound. He wondered if Hooker was hurt. Now he considered that he should have brought the trauma kit with him, but he was already halfway down the hill, and he didn’t want to go back for it. Besides, the other gunman needed to be dealt with first.

A shot snapped off.

Maguire dived to the dirt. God, the situation was still live down there. With the back of his hand, he wiped the tears and sweat from his face. Then scrabbling behind a rock for cover, he re­loaded the empty chambers of his revolver, then began working his way the last hun­dred yards to the thick copse of undergrowth.

Fighting and yelling from the scrub. Thank god, that meant Hooker was still alive. It might be bad, but at least he was still alive.

At last Maguire broke through enough to get a view. Neither Hooker nor the gunman saw him.

Hooker was down, squirming on the ground, arms raised to cover his head; and the man stood over him, Hooker’s own baton in his grip, and he was clubbing Hooker viciously with it, head and body, like he seriously intended to beat him to death.

Maguire stared horrified, but he didn’t dare use the shotgun for fear of hitting Hooker.

The baton swung again, smacked across unprotected ribs, had enough to break something. Hooker grunted with the impact, cried out in pain, writhing helplessly. Again the club raised, then hissed down for Hooker’s head.

The crack of a pistol shot interrupted its descent. And once again a body jerked with the impact and spun to the dirt.

Maguire holstered his .38 and tried not to think about the second dead man as he ran toward Hooker. It was Hooker who needed his full attention now.

Hooker’s service revolver lay in the dirt several yards away beside a clump of weeds where either he had dropped it, or it had been knocked from his hand. The baton which had fallen from the other man’s grip now lay between them.

Hooker dragged air slowly and uncertainly, and each breath hitched like even that simple act caused too much pain.

“Hey, Hooker, “ Maguire urged, as his gaze took in his partner’s bloody head and face and the torn blood-stained uniform. “Hey, Hooker, talk to me.”

Hooker’s response was no more than a groan. Dull eyes stared up unfocussed. Blood oozed from one nostril. Dirt and blood matted his hair down on this right temple.

“C’mon, Hooker, you’re gonna be all right,” he comforted, even as he started checking for injur­ies, and tried to remember his emergency medical training. Hell, all the years in Detectives, he’d hardly ever had reason to use it. At least Hooker was breathing and had a pulse. Several wounds bled, but none severely. So far, so good. But maybe broken skull, busted ribs?

He undid Hooker’s uniform shirt, pushed up his t-shirt, then began gently palpating tender ribs. Red abraded areas blotched the skin, some swelling and contusing already apparent.

When Maguire ran his hands over one bad area, Hooker cried out abruptly, then a fit of coughing interrupted him. Frothy pink-tinged saliva spattered his uniform, drooled from his mouth. Punctured lung from a broken rib – now Maguire wished he had the trauma kit and oxygen tank with him. Instead he would have to go all the way back up the hill to the car to get it. His own wound made him feel light-headed – hypovolemic shock setting in, no doubt – and he wasn’t sure he could even make it back to the car without passing out.

He measured the distance with a squinting eye, then laid a comforting hand on Hooker’s head. “I’ve got to go back to the car, but I’ll be right back. You just hang in there, okay, partner?”

A little sob escaped Hooker’s lips, and Maguire felt the sickness return in his stomach. Hooker needed real medical help, and he heeded it right now. Maguire wished he could just drive Hooker out of there, and get him to a hospital; but Hooker was certainly in no shape to walk to the car, and Maguire couldn’t carry him up the rocky slope. And he didn’t dare leave Hooker alone to drive for help.

Dusk was fading rapidly. And with no radio contact, and no reason for anybody else to hap­pen to drive along this old fire road, they were in a real hell of a mess.

He patted Hooker’s shoulder gently encouragingly, then began climbing the hill to the cruiser, all the while trying to ignore the stab in his side.

He got the supplies from the trunk, and just as he was starting down the hill again, engine sounds from an approaching vehicle caught his ear. Headlights rounded a curve, and Maguire sagged with relief. A black-and-white LASO cruiser pulled up behind the patrol car.

Two deputies got out and approached Maguire, revolvers in hand. Warily they noted what was left of the gunman lying beside the open passenger door of the police cruiser, and the dirt and blood soiling Maguire’s suit. Then one of the deputies, a tall blond man, ordered, “Get your hands up. Who are you?”

Painfully Maguire raised his hands as best he could with the wound hurting. “Lieutenant Paul Maguire, LCPD. My ID’s in my breast pocket.”

“Take it out slowly.”

Holding his jacket open wide, so they could see his shoulder holster, he reached for his ID inside the inner pocket, and flipped open the little leather folder to expose his identification and gold detective’s badge.

The deputy looked over the picture-ID and badge, then handed it back, satisfied, and rehol­stered his gun. “We heard some shots, saw your tire tracks back aways,” he announced. “You need our help here?”

“We sure do.” Maguire breathed a sigh of relief. “Am I glad to see you guys.” Abruptly a stab of pain im­paled his side, and a queasy vertigo shimmied over his brain. He thought he might vomit, or might pass out. Dropping the trauma bags, he made a desperate grab for the car to keep from falling.

The blond grabbed him, as well as the other deputy, a young black man. “You need to be looked at.” The blond plucked at Maguire’s bloody shirt. “What’s going on here?”

Maguire panted to regain his wind. “We were chasing two ADW suspects, they almost got away from us.”

“Where’s the other one?” The black man scouted the area quickly with sharp glances.

Maguire jerked his head toward the downslope. “Down there, with my partner. I nailed them both.” He made a half-attempt to brush away the hands examining his wound. “But my part­ner got busted up worse than me. Bleeding into a lung. I’ve got to get back to him. Look, could you call for a rescue chopper? – our radio’s out.”

“Yeah, sure,” the black man agreed, “but you stay up here, let me take care of that wound.   My partner will go down and stabilize your buddy.”

Another tired nod. “He’s down that trail, about two-hundred yards.”

“All right now, c’mon, I’ve got a thermos of coffee in the car – that’ll make you feel better – and I’ll bandage up those ribs for you.”

Then putting Maguire’s arm across his shoulders, he helped Maguire to the black-and-white, then got on the radio, while the other deputy hefted the two trauma bags and jogged down the hill to Hooker.

* * * * *

_to be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1983 Leonard Nimoy guest-starred on T.J. Hooker with William Shatner, in an episode entitled “Vengeance Is Mine”, where he played Lieutenant Paul Maguire. So of course, it was only natural to envision a K/S relationship between Hooker & Maguire…!
> 
> Hooker and Maguire are on routine patrol when they find themselves in a bad situation – out in the back-country, pinned down by brutal unknown assailants, wounded and with no radio contact.
> 
> New – Chapter 3: Hesitantly Hooker mentioned, “Paul… when we were on patrol… we were talking about how we… could’ve been more than partners back then…”  
> “Yeah.” Maguire tried to ignore the sudden warm stirring in his groin.  
> “Well… I’ve been lying here for three days… thinking about it… And if it’s not too late… after all these years… I’m willing to give it a try… if you are…”

Paul Maguire slumped disconsolately in front of the watch-commander’s desk. The tell-tale bulge of rib-taping was evident beneath his fresh shirt. He’d left the hospital after five-and-a-half hours – Hooker hadn't.

“I _knew_ we were making a mistake,” he insisted for the third time in ten minutes. “If we just hadn't gone in without back-up, none of this would’ve happened. When the radio acted up, I told him we should call it off. God, I…” Thumb and forefinger squeezed the bridge of his nose.

Lieutenant Bill Thatcher and Captain Dennis Sheridan watched the man slouched in the chair before them. They knew how Maguire felt – two good officers wounded: one now lay in a hospital bed, half-conscious from a concussion, ribs and hands broken, a lung punctured; the other, flesh wound, broken rib.

“Don’t blame yourself, Paul,” Lieutenant Thatcher consoled. “Neither of you could have foreseen what would happen.”

Maguire sat forward, gestured impatiently with one hand. “Bill, we knew we were responding to a shots-fired call. We knew it could be a potentially dangerous situation. I should have demanded that we don’t check it out until we got confirmation on the back-up. I don’t know what got into Hooker. We worked together for ten years. He’s too smart a cop to make a dumb mistake like that. Goddamn stupid mistake.”

“Paul, it’s over now.” Dennis Sheridan spoke calmly, quietly. “all right, so there were mistakes made. Hooker should have been more cautious; you should have pulled rank and ordered him off the chase. But does any of this recrimination changed what’s happened?”

Maguire shook his head silently, resignedly.

“Look,” the captain urged, “why don’t you let me drive you home, why don’t you spend the night at our place?”

“No, Joe…”

“C’mon, Betty’s already made up the bed in the guest room. You really shouldn’t be alone tonight, Paul, you’re injured and you’re upset. How about we go by your place, you can pick up anything you’ll need, then I’ll take you home.”

“Joe, I’ve got reports to write…”

”They’ll wait. Since you’re involved in this case, I’m having Bill head the shooting-team this time. He knows where to find you if he needs more info. We’ve gone over it enough for tonight. Besides, shift was over an hour ago. C’mon, let’s go. You can file your report tomorrow.”

Maguire just sat there slowly shaking his head. He wanted to speak; it took awhile before the words came out. “You know, in all my years as a police officer, this is the first time I ever killed anyone.”

“And because of it, you and Hooker and still alive,” Thatcher interrupted definitely.

Maguire nodded, eyes closed.

* * * * *

Poking his head through the doorway, Maguire smiled at his partner lying in the hospital bed. “Hey,” he greeted, approaching the miserable figure, wired and hooked up every way imaginable. “This is the first time you’ve been awake when I came to visit. Welcome back.”

“Hey yourself,” Hooker croaked through bruised lips. An oxygen cannula fed into his nostrils, an IV into his right inner elbow. Both hands lay at his side, restrained in short-arm casts. Discoloration blotched eyes and cheeks. “Get me out of here, Paul,” he pleaded, more serious than not. Weakly he tried to clear the congestion in his throat. He had to catch his breath before talking. “Bill won’t … help me…”

Maguire acknowledged Bill Thatcher sitting in the bedside chair, then looked down at Hooker. “Hey, you’re getting a few days off from work, taxpayer’s expense. Don’t knock it.”

Hooker just moaned drearily, winced against the pain. “My head… headache’s killing me… my chest hurts like hell…”

“All the more reason for you to be here,” Thatcher insisted. “Let the people here take care of you. But you’ve got to do what the doctor says, and you’ve got to be nice to the nurses.”

“I’ve been nice… to the nurses…” Hooker grumbled weakly. “Doesn’t do any good… They still wake me up… middle of the night… jab needles into my ass…”

Thatcher reached over to lightly pat one knee beneath the blankets. “Hooker, you know if I could, I’d get you out of here right now. I’m taking over your Wednesday night class for you, even though I’m behind in my own work. I need you back on the job so I can get my own work done.”

“You’re… all heart… Lieutenant…”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m your favorite supervisor.” Then pushing himself up from the chair, he commented, “And speaking of work, I’d better get back to the office. I’ll check on you again tomorrow, Hooker. Take care of him, Paul… and take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Maguire promised, and Thatcher left the room.

As soon as they were alone, Hooker rested his tired pain-dulled gaze on Maguire. Maguire stood by the head of the bed, smiling down compassionately at him. “Hey, partner,” he urged gently. “There’s easier ways to get a few days off.”

“I know,” Hooker rasped, voice catching with a suppressed cough. “I’m sorry, Paul… for causing… all this trouble…”

Maguire just shook his head.

“How are you?” Hooker asked, noting the rib-binding under Maguire’s shirt.

“I’m managing. The slug just broke the bottom rib and took out a chunk of flesh. I’m recuperating at home this week.”

“Last time we got shot up… you were the one who… got off easy then too…”

Maguire’s lips quirked a little grin, “Yeah, what can I say? Clean living.”

Listlessly Hooker’s head rolled on the pillow. “I feel like shit…”

Maguire stroked his friend’s head in a comforting gesture. “Listen, you want me to call the nurse? Do you need more pain medication?”

“In a little while… I just got some… couple hours ago…” Stiffly Hooker shifted his head toward the door. “Would you… close the door, Paul?” he requested. “There’s something I… need to say in private…”

Obligingly Maguire went over and closed the door. As he returned to the bed, an abrupt fit of coughing spasmed Hooker. Helplessly he choked and coughed, body jerking and seizing, which set off the IV alarm, then finally collapsed back on the bed, wheezing for breath, drawing up his knees against the pain of his broken ribs. Pink-tinged sputum smeared his lips. He couldn’t even used his casted hands to wipe his mouth. Wetness leaked from his closed eyes.

Hastily Maguire punched the reset switch on the IV monitor to start the flow again, then reached for a tissue to wipe Hooker’s swollen lips and chin. For the water jug on the bed-table, he poured a little ice water into a plastic cup. “Here, this’ll help,” he coaxed. He raised Hooker’s head a few inches off the pillow, trying to ignore the stitch in his own side from his bound ribs, and put the cup to Hooker’s lips. “C’mon,” he urged.

Trembling with weakness, Hooker managed a few swallows, then turned his head slightly. Maguire helped him to lie down again, and straightened the blankets over him. Then pulling up a chair, Maguire sat down next to the bed. Hooker’s fingers, sticking out of the cast, gestured slightly; Maguire clasped hands with him as best they could.

For awhile they just stayed that way, touching gently. Hooker’s eyes closed again, and his breath gradually evened out, so that Maguire thought he had fallen asleep again.

Until a sigh of exasperation escaped Hooker’s nostrils, and his head moved slightly on the pillow. “Damn…” he muttered. “I never… meant to be on the … receiving end of my own baton…”

Very gently Maguire squeezed the exposed fingers in a sympathetic gesture. “That’s not the way we’re trained, no. How did he get your baton away from in the first place?”

“I fell… the suspect kicked the gun out of my hands… then grabbed my baton before I could get it out of the ring…” Hooker took in a hesitant breath against the pain in his lungs. “Paul, I’m sorry… for fouling up the… Big Bear weekend with Leila…”

Maguire shrugged. “I called Leila the other day. She said that she and her ex have tried to patch things up between them. So it’s just as well we didn’t do the weekend. But she still said I could take you and your family up some time. Just let me know when you guys can make it, and I’ll get in touch with her again.” Aimlessly he rubbed a thumb over the back of Hooker’s fingers. “So, what did you want to talk about in private?”

Hooker’s pain-filled gaze shifted to his friend’s face, fingers weakly returned the sympathetic pressure. He took another breath before mentioning hesitantly, “Paul… when we were on patrol… just before the ADW went down… we were talking about how we… could’ve been more than partners back then…”

“Yeah.” Comfortingly Maguire laid his free hand on top of Hooker’s fingers, and tried to ignore the sudden warm stirring in his groin.

Nervousness creased Hooker’s bruised face. “Well… I’ve been lying here for three days… thinking about it… thinking about us being… more than partners… And if it’s not too late… after all these years… I’m willing to give it a try… if you are…” Another paroxysm of coughing interrupted his breath, spasmed his body once again, only to release him in a weak quivering mass. “… damn…” he swore, trying to fight back tears of pain.

Again Maguire assisted him, moved closer to rest a warm hand on the side of Hooker’s head, wishing he could take his friend’s pain away, wishing he could make him well again. Acutely he became aware of the soft springiness of Hooker’s hair against his palm, the warmth of skin on skin. Heat throbbed in his groin, and an adrenalin rush flushed his face, as long-buried thoughts and desires resurfaced to stimulate and tease his mind. Gently his fingers experienced the texture of his friend’s hair. “We can talk about this later,” he assured, “when you’re feeling better. Right now you’re under a lot of stress, and you’re doped to the gills.”

“Paul… this isn’t the dope talking… I meant what I said…”

“I know.”

“At least tell me… if you don’t want to… so I won’t keep wondering…” Hooker’s breathing sounded increasingly difficult, raspy – the pain in his chest obviously worsening.

Maguire trailed a finger down Hooker’s bruised unshaven cheek. “I’ve thought about us… off and on… for twenty years, Hooker. When you get out of the hospital, if you still want a serious relationship between us, that’ll be fine with me. I don’t have any objections.” And then he pushed himself up from the chair. “Right now though, I think you better get some sleep – you look like your about to fade out on me any minute. You want me to call the nurse? – is it time for your next pain shot?”

The misery was apparent on Hooker’s face. “… god I hope so…” he managed a whispery croak, then got a few more words. “… Paul… promise we’ll talk.”

“I promise.”

* * * * *

From his second-story office window, Maguire could see St. Joseph Hospital a mile away to the east. Late afternoon sun reflected off the hospital’s windowed west wall. Somewhere over there, Hooker occupied a bed – had occupied a bed for the past week now. While his body was healing, however, his mind had been growing increasingly restless and frustrated. Maguire could sympathize with that. He had himself become exceedingly bored just recuperating at home so he had found excuses to spend a little time at the office each day.

In an hour or so, he would go over to visit Hooker again. At least the daily visits gave them both a break from the boredom of convalescence. And right now he was more than a little worried about his partner: the wound in Hooker’s lung had begun to abscess. For the time being, the doctors were treating it with everything short of surgery, but if the lab results didn’t read normal within another twenty-four hours they would go in and drain the inflammation. None of which increased Hooker’s good humor – or Maguire’s.

Damn fool thing to happen. Goddamn fool thing to happen. Especially now – when they were on the verge of an exciting new enrichment of their relationship. And if Hooker should die, Maguire knew he would never forgive himself.

Turning away from the window, he sat down at his desk again, slouched back in his chair, and stared with disinterest at the assorted piles of paper littering his desk-top. Within a week, he was expected to turn all these figures and calculations into the Detective division third-quarter budget-projection, but he’d hardly been able to concentrate on it these past few days. This was one job he couldn’t designate to his sergeants, all of whom had been filling his other duties while he was absent on sick-leave, and Lieutenant Thatcher was already behind on the Patrol Division budget himself, so he couldn’t offer any assistance. If the deadline started creeping close, Maguire thought he might see if Captain Sheridan had any time to spare.

Out of sheer boredom, he spread the personnel-usage sheets again. Maybe he could at least finish that section today.

But still the numbers refused to coöperate, and all he could think about was Hooker lying in that hospital bed right now, very very ill.

Since the day that Hooker had brought up the subject again of a sexual relationship between them, they had spoken of it a little. But Maguire didn’t want them making any kind of promises until Hooker was out of danger and back to his old self.

However, that didn’t stop Maguire from thinking about it, imagining what sex would be like between them. For ten years he and Hooker had shared a car, a patrol beat, a life. About the only thing they hadn't shared was sex. And finally Maguire had even suggested that. But back then they had both been married – happily married with children – so Hooker had been right to turn him down at the time.

Now finally, after all these years, it might actually happen.

He thought about the feel of Hooker’s hair, his skin. The memory initiated a galvanic sensation between his legs. All the friendly casual touches between them – twenty-five years’ worth – now seemed the seeds for pleasant musings about the past and fertile possibilities for the future. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Hooker, to make love to him. He had wondered for twenty years.

The suggestion increased the tingle in his crotch. His genitals ached provocatively with incipient erection.

Since Sharon’s death the previous winter, he had had no sexual relationships with anyone. Before the twenty-three years with Sharon, there had been Leila, and before Leila, a couple of male relationships – but that had been a very long time ago. He wondered if Hooker had ever had a homosexual relationship with anyone. Somehow he doubted it – that was why it was so vital now that Hooker not be pressured into a premature decision that either of them might later regret.

But right now, getting well was the top priority.

“Maguire, what are you doing here?” the captain’s friendly voice interrupted from the doorway. “What do I have to do to get you to stay home – take away your office key?”

Maguire looked up from his distracted concentration. “Hi, Dennis,” he greeted. “I thought I’d get some work done on the budget report this afternoon. But I just can’t keep my mind on it today.”

“Go home, Paul,” Sheridan urged again. “You look peaked. Listen, I’ve assigned Sergeant Meyers to teach Hooker’s classes, so that will free Thatcher to assist you. You’re officially on sick-leave. Take advantage of it.”

“All right,” Maguire acceded without protest.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1983 Leonard Nimoy guest-starred on T.J. Hooker with William Shatner, in an episode entitled “Vengeance Is Mine”, where he played Lieutenant Paul Maguire. So of course, it was only natural to envision a K/S relationship between Hooker & Maguire…!
> 
> Hooker and Maguire are on routine patrol when they find themselves in a bad situation – out in the back-country, pinned down by brutal unknown assailants, wounded and with no radio contact.
> 
> New – Chapter 4: Maguire’s gaze dropped to the area of Hooker’s groin beneath the lap-blanket, to the evident swelling bulge. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to destroy our friendship, if we’re making a mistake here.”  
> Hooker’s braced hand rested on his shoulder. “We shared a car for ten years. If we can still stand each other after that, I don’t think the friendship’s in any danger.”

“I really appreciate you picking me up from the hospital an letting me stay with you for a few days,” Hooker mentioned, limping weakly from the supper table to the living-room couch, while leaning heavily on Maguire’s supporting arm. “Especially on such short notice. Fran would’ve taken me in, but after that call from her mom last night, she thought she’d better fly back immediately, so she and the kids left this morning.”

Helping him sit down, Maguire straightened Hooker’s robe, then spread a lap blanket across his knees. “What’s the prognosis for her dad?”

“Not good. This was his third seizure. If he passes, he mother will really need Fran’s sup­port. She would have stayed to take care of me if no other arrangements could be made, but I think it’s more important for her to be with her folks right now.”

“Absolutely, “Maguire agreed. “When Sharon died so suddenly last year, I nearly went to pieces. Thank god Val was here to help me through that time, even though I know it was just as rough on her to lose her mom like that.” He picked up Hooker’s suitcase beside the sofa. “I’ll move your things into Val’s old room. You can sleep in there.”

Hooker eased himself back against the thick sofa cushions. “You’re sure you don’t mind my staying for awhile? I don’t want to impose.”

“Hell no,” Maguire called from the hallway. “With Val gone to Stanford, I’ve got the house to myself. No reason for you to stay anywhere else. And after three weeks flat on your back, you sure can’t be alone yet. You can’t even make it to the bathroom by yourself.”

Hooker grinned, looked down at his bandaged emaciated body. “You’re right about that,” he admitted. “I must have lost twenty pounds. I don’t think I could even stand on my own legs. Thanks for nursemaiding me.”

Maguire reappeared in the sitting room. “Well, I can use the company. With both girls gone now, it gets pretty quiet around here.”

“I’ll even help with the housework – just don’t ask me to do windows.” Hooker lifted his arms, one wrapped in a light brace, the other still casted. “But I’ll do anything I can. Fran house­broke me pretty well.”

Sidetracking to the kitchen, Maguire returned with a couple of beers, opened one for Hooker and handed it to him, then settled back on the couch beside him. “Why don’t you two get back toge­ther? You had something good for a lot of years.”

“Yeah,” Hooker agreed. “But as long as I wear the uniform, Fran is adamant. Said she finally just got tired of sharing me with the force, and wondering every day if I was going to make it back home that evening, or if the duty-officer would come by with the notification.”

Maguire tasted his drink. “I saw her at the hospital when you were in surgery. Divorce or no, she was worried sick about you.”

“Well,” Hooker admitted, “we’ve talked about it, but she just doesn’t want to. I dunno, we seem to be one of those couples who get along better now that we’re apart. It’s working out, I guess. We still look out for each other – if either of us needs anything, the other is just a phone call away. And I can see the kids whenever I want – she’s never tried to keep them from me. So, anyway, it’s been hard, but we’re all making the best of it.” He took a swallow of beer, then nudged a knee toward Maguire. “So, Paul, how have you been getting along these past three weeks while I’ve been in the hospital? When do you go back to regular duty?”

“I am on regular duty. Most of my job I do at a desk anyway, so there’s nothing I can’t han­dle while I’m waiting for my ribs to finish healing. Right now Sheridan’s got me revamping the in-house training programs, and then I’ll be summarizing the personnel evals of his report to the Chief next month. Just my normal everyday work.”

Hooker grinned. “Now you know why I’ve never bothered with the lieutenant’s-promotional exams. I’m allergic to all-day paper-work.”

Maguire nodded, and the two fell silent for awhile. Only a car driving by outside an the clock ticking on the wall interrupted the quiet. Lightly the clock chimed seven-thirty. The two men sat side by side on the couch, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

And then Hooker mentioned softly, “Hey… Paul.”

Maguire didn’t look up, “Yeah?”

A little smile teased the corner of Hooker’s lips, a slight flush pinked his face. “Let’s not talk about work anymore. I’d rather talk about us.” Lazily he let his knee press against Maguire’s leg, then reached over to rest a light hand on his partner’s thigh. “You think two invalids like us can manage something tonight?”

A tightening of muscles danced over Maguire’s body. He nodded again. “As long as we’re not planning anything too strenuous.”

Hooker winked. “I never was into acrobatic sex.”

Maguire’s expression registered hesitation, respirations quivered. He felt his organ pulse with filling blood, felt his own face flush like Hooker’s. His gaze dropped to the area of Hooker’s groin beneath the lap-blanket, to the evident swelling bulge. “Are you sure you want to do this? – you don’t have any feelings of conflict-of-interest with Fran, or anything like that?”

“No.”

“I don’t want to destroy our friendship, if we’re making a mistake here.”

Hooker’s braced hand rested on his shoulder. “We shared a car for ten years. We know each other’s eccentricities. In fact, I probably knew you better than I knew Fran for those ten years. If we can still stand each other after that, I don’t think the friendship’s in any danger. Unless, you don’t really want to do it… and I’ll understand, if that’s the case.”

A breath escaped Maguire’s nostrils. “God, Hooker, I want it. You don’t know how much.”

“Fine, then let’s stop talking,” Hooker coaxed, “… and start doing something about it.”

Tentatively Maguire initiated a touch to Hooker’s shoulder, idly watched his fingers slide along the thick muscle to his partner’s neck. “Have you ever done this with a man before?”

“Huh uh,” Hooker denied, breath rasping beneath the taboo excitement of the massaging fingers stimulating cervical nerves. “Have you?”

Heat tingled all over Maguire’s skin right down to his crotch. “Yes.” And reaching his other arm across both of them to Hooker’s other shoulder, he pulled him closer.

Willingly Hooker joined into the embrace, slid his arms around the lean hard body next to him; then Maguire’s mouth came down on his, and they kissed, hesitantly at first, then more inten­sely, more securely. A groan moaned from Maguire’s throat, electricity spidered through surface nerves, sensation doing all sorts of things to his penis and testicles. Involuntarily his hips lifted a little, squirmed with need. A lot of years had passed since he’d held a muscular body in his arms, so unlike soft squishy feminine flesh, and he’d forgotten too about whisker burns from kissing. The thought made him smile against Hooker’s lips.

His hands roamed down Hooker’s back, gripped him tighter; Hooker reciprocated with a squeeze of his own, then invitingly opened his mouth, so Maguire’s tongue eagerly slipped inside. Excitedly Hooker’s breath caught, and his own tongue met the visitor, rubbed against it wetly, firmly. With more confidence now, Maguire shifted over him, tried to tongue-dive down his throat. One hand slipped behind Hooker’s head, fingers dug into brown curls; the other came up to rest on his robe-front, massage one breast through the thin material. Responsively the nipple erected.

Hooker sucked on the tongue exploring his mouth, sucked and swallowed, while the fingers of his braced hand clumsily undid several buttons down the front of Maguire’s shirt. Then his hand went inside to mimic Maguire’s fondling, but flesh-to-flesh, without any intervening material. Maguire took the hint, opened Hooker’s robe, parted the edges of his pajama shirt, then reached in to pluck both nipples simultaneously, touch them, play with them. This time it was Hooker who moaned.

Finally Maguire broke the kiss, and let his head loll back against the couch. Releasing Hooker, he finished unbuttoning his own shirt and pulled it free of his trousers.

Hooker propped an elbow on top of the couch, rested his head on a fist. “So,” he smiled, breathing not too regular, “is it as good as you expected?”

Maguire managed a chuckle. “Better. Why’d you make me wait twenty years, Hooker?”

A lift of shoulders. “We’d’ve been in trouble if we’d tried this twenty years ago and our wives ever found out.”

“We still will be, if anyone down at the precinct finds out.”

“Well, let’s just hope they don’t.” Fondly Hooker watched his partner beside him. But now the pleasure was fading from Maguire’s face to be replaced by a drawn serious look. In response, Hooker’s own smile dropped, had he questioned gently, “What’s wrong, Paul? If I’m pushing, please tell me. I know I turned you down twenty years go, so if you really want to decline now, you have every right.”

Maguire shook his head. “I told you, that’s not it, Hooker, not at all.”

“Then what? Does it have something to do with the night of the accident, is that it?”

Now Maguire nodded, lips pulled tight, a frown creasing his thin deeply-etched face.

Hooker tried to lighten his mood. “Back when we were partners, remember the Mesa Street shooting? I got a bellyful of lead and spent a week in the hospital. And now, eighteen years later, we can’t even share a car for a week, and I end up back in the hospital again. Must be your fault.”

“My fault?” Maguire challenged abruptly, and he wasn’t bantering. “You’re the one who took off hell-bent-for-leather after those two creeps without waiting for back-up. Hell, if one of my men pulled a judgment call like that, I’d have him down in the armory polishing steel for a month.”

“All right,” Hooker acknowledged, dropping the playful tone. “Reprimand accepted. But it was my judgment call to make, and I made it. If we’d called off the pursuit, waiting for back-up – which we didn’t even know was coming or not – those punks would have been long-gone. And lord knows what they would have done, shooting up the freeway or going back to the rest-stop and pick­ing off victims. We had to stop them, and we did.”

“Well, we stopped them, all right,” Maguire agreed, the angular planes of his face taut. “Stopped ‘em dead.”

“Is it the shooting that’s bothering you now?” Eyes mild with compassion, Hooker watched his friend, then reached his braced hand to Maguire’s shoulder, squeezed as best he could. “Paul, I’m sorry. But these thing happen sometimes. It’s one of the unfortunate aspects of this job. You know that.”

“Oh yeah, I know that. But goddammit, it didn’t have to go down that way this time.”

“Then how?” Hooker insisted. “You saw the toxicology reports – both of them were pumped full of meth. How could you have stopped them any other way? Paul, it was judged a righteous shooting, justifiable homicide. You were cleared by the shooting-team and by the captain. They didn’t have any doubts that you did what was necessary to save both our lives.”

Pain replaced the anger in Maguire’s face. “Have you ever killed anyone in the line of duty?”

“Yes, twice. Once, six years ago, my partner and I cornered a street punk on a motorcycle – he tried to run down my partner, I took him out. The other was the Mesa Street case, remember? After the gunman shot me twice in the gut, I got him in the head.”

Absently Maguire nodded, sat there thoughtfully, forearms resting on knees, hands clasped. “I’ve been a cop for twenty-eight years. In my entire career, I’ve had to draw my gun five times. I’ve been involved in three shootouts. This is the first time I killed someone. You know that I head the shooting-team whenever any of my detectives are involved in a shooting. I’ve seen a number of incidents, most of them justifiable, some not. But that doesn’t make it any easier now, when it was my gun, even if they were just a couple of hopped-up punks.”

Again Hooker squeezed his friend’s shoulder comfortingly. “I know what you’re going through, Paul, I’ve been through it myself. I know it’s tough. It’s not something you’re going to get over quickly, if ever. But try to put it aside for now. You did the right thing, and you know it.” His arm rested on Maguire’s shoulder, fingers worked the nape of his neck. “C’mon,” he soothed. “Let it go now.”

Maguire’s eyes squeezed closed in sudden pain. “Goddammit, Hooker,” he insisted sharply, “it isn’t just the shooting. Your judgment call exposed us both unnecessarily. Either one of us could have been killed. Suppose I hadn't been able to save our lives? We wouldn’t be here now having this evening. Our work out there is dangerous enough without unnecessary risk-taking. Go back and re-read your own lectures on the subject. How would Fran have felt if you hadn't made it through sur­gery? How would I have felt? All this that we’re sharing now – we could’ve lost it all before we even started. That punk could have blown you away or cracked your skull open before I had a chance to take him out.”

“Paul.” Hooker’s casted hand slid over Maguire’s chest beneath the open shirt, rested on the rib belt that braced from chest to hips like his own. “I’m sorry it went down the way it did, too. I’m sorry as hell you got hurt. I don’t know what I would have done if _you’d_ been killed. But I still stand by my decision – I don’t see that we had any other choice. You’re right – the outcome could have been a lot worse than it was. But if anyone had to die, I’m just grateful it was them and not us.”

Maguire reached up to cover Hooker’s hand on his belly. “I’d’ve hated to lose the best part­ner I ever had. Like you said, we had a lot of good years together. Damn stupid shame to fuck it up now – especially now.”

“I agree.” A smile warmed Hooker’s face. “Now, c’mon, Paul,” he coaxed, “let’s get back to what we were doing. I want to finish what we started, okay?”

“Okay,” Maguire agreed quietly, turning his head to watch the man beside him. Affectiona­tely he squeezed the hand lying on his middle.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1983 Leonard Nimoy guest-starred on T.J. Hooker with William Shatner, in an episode entitled “Vengeance Is Mine”, where he played Lieutenant Paul Maguire. So of course, it was only natural to envision a K/S relationship between Hooker & Maguire…!
> 
> Hooker and Maguire are on routine patrol when they find themselves in a bad situation – out in the back-country, pinned down by brutal unknown assailants, wounded and with no radio contact.
> 
> Final – Chapter 5: Sensually Hooker’s freed hand pushed up beneath Maguire’s shirt, found its way up to bare flesh above the rib-binding, squeezed and stroked, while his lower body squirmed to maneuver beneath Maguire’s covering body. With his tongue Maguire prodded at Hooker’s lips, then slid inside a warm wet inviting mouth, slid in and out, in and out, tasted, licked…

“C’mon,” Hooker whispered again, leaning back against the sofa pillows. Hazel eyes smiled invitingly. “Just help me get this wrist brace off, would you? I don’t want to hurt you with it.”

Compliantly Maguire unstrapped the light aluminum brace. A tingle of excitement surged through him and he leaned forward, hands reaching for Hooker’s body. Hooker’s arms gathered him in an embrace, and Maguire lay down almost on top of his partner without resting his weight on either of their injuries. Again they kissed, this time firmly, deeply. Sensually Hooker’s freed hand pushed up beneath Maguire’s shirt, found its way up to bare flesh above the rib-binding, squeezed and stroked, while his lower body squirmed to maneuver beneath Maguire’s covering body. With his tongue Maguire prodded at Hooker’s lips, then slid inside a warm wet inviting mouth, slid in and out, in and out, tasted, licked.

Hooker moaned against the mouth pressed to his, a helpless moan of surrender, at the intimate suggestion of intercourse, and insistently he found one of Maguire’s hands and drew it down to his crotch.

More than willingly Maguire squeezed the heavy bulk through the pajama pants, then pre­sumed to work his fingers beneath the material and burrow into the warmth of Hooker’s groin. A sharper grunt burst from Hooker’s lips as the exploring fingers took their time manipulating his testi­cles, squeezing them and working them in their sac, pushing them up against the swollen throbbing penis.

“Paul!” he gasped, his cock jumping suddenly with the intense stimulation, breath reduced to irregular shuddering grunts and pants.

Maguire said nothing, but diverted his massage to the thick shaft; slowly, erotically began to pump it. The organ squirmed responsively in his grip, leaked a few drops of fluid from the slit. He could feel his own straining penis swell and leak in his briefs too; so, shifting his position, he strad­dled Hooker’s thigh and began to rub against it. But then a trembling hand reached from his groin, struggled to get his belt buckle undone, unzip his fly, then pushed through the openings of his cloth­ing to return a very special favor. Stinging ecstasy sizzled right up his spine as a gentle yet vigorous touch hefted what he had, played with it, squeezed it carefully. All muscle tone dissipated, and limply he collapsed over Hooker, barely managing to fall beside him and not top of him.

“… oh god, Hooker…” Maguire murmured against the side of Hooker’s neck, hardly able to tolerate the electric stimulation between his legs. Sweat soaked into the back and the armpits of his shirt. He could feel the warm pre-sem ooze down the channel of his penis and bubble out the tip. Helplessly he squirmed, while the blissfully tormenting fingers rubbed his tender parts all around. In return, he continued to pump Hooker’s dripping organ, sliding the loose skin wetly back and forth over the fully erect rod with one hand while the other massaged swollen balls. Intently his lips and teeth nipped and sucked at the side of Hooker’s throat, tasted the damp slightly salty flesh. “You, uh, wanna go into the bedroom…” he suggested breathily, “… and do this right?”

“Huh uh,” Hooker panted, wriggling in Maguire’s grasp. “My ribs are… already hurting… I can’t… take anything more…energetic… ohh…” he moaned as Maguire’s thumb played casually over the wet velvet head of his penis, thighs quivering.

Exploring the face beneath his own with lips and probing tongue, Maguire offered, “If it hurts too much… do you want me to stop?” One fingertip teased the weeping urethral hole.

A sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth; Hooker’s hips lifted to push his penis even more firmly into the stimulating hand. “… god no!...” he insisted, panting for breath, and eagerly re­ciprocating the massage to his friend’s intimate parts. “… make me come, Paul… please…”

An answering rumble in Maguire’s chest; and Maguire’s lips came down on an anticipating mouth, tongues played together excitedly, passionately. Then sliding one groping hand deeper be­tween Hooker’s legs, Maguire pushed his middle finger into a warm moist rectum.

“Paul!” Hooker gasped, stiffening abruptly, eyes wide.

Maguire didn’t answer, but pushed deeper, found the prostate and rubbed it, all the while con­tinuing to pump with his other hand.

“… Ohh!” panted from Hooker’s lips – and semen exploded from his organ in climactic con­vulsion, spurted on both of them; and he jerked and thrust vigorously through his orgasm, ejecting several more bursts of fluid between them.   The viscid liquid dribbled between Maguire’s fingers as he kept his moving grip on the pulsing cock.

And then his own climax triggered, and ecstasy stung his crotch, his solar plexus, raced up his spine to his brain, and all he could concentrate on was the pressure of the hand between his legs. His ribs hurt and the binding cut into his flesh, but it didn’t matter, he was coming and coming in Hooker’s hand, and every spurt of fluid spasmed exquisite pain / pleasure right through his loins, and he wanted to be inside Hooker’s body now, shooting his load into Hooker’s ass, he wanted that so bad, so bad…

A final moan, and Maguire lay there, half-on and half-off his lover. Their mingled fluids blotched their disheveled clothing and the lap blanket tangled between their legs. Ragged breathing rasped from sore chests – Hooker’s was punctuated with short wispy little cries, and he pressed one arm to his hurt ribs.

Maguire gasped for enough breath to talk, then inquired, “Are you sore?”

“Just a little,” Hooker lied.

But Maguire saw through the lie. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “We shouldn’t have done this yet.” And gasped for air himself, despite his own protesting ribs. “Talk about poor judgment…”

Hooker shook his head. “I stand by this judgment… just like I … stand by my other one… it was worth it, Paul…”

“Yeah, “Maguire agreed. “… ohh…” His face nuzzled into Hooker’s neck, kissed the sweat-tacky skin. “It was good…” he admitted.

“It was terrific,” Hooker corrected, but then reality insisted upon intruding, and weakly he tried to pull away from beneath the warm weight of Maguire’s body. “I hurt, Paul… please, let me up…”

The pleas stirred Maguire from his lassitude, and stiffly he moved off the form beneath, then he offered his hands to help Hooker sit up a little against the sofa pillow, then slumped back against the couch himself. He watched his partner. “Is it bad?” he urged.

Hooker shook his head. “Not bad enough to regret what we just did… god, Paul that was great…” He managed a weak smile. “I wish you’d talked me into it twenty years ago.”

“Hey, I tried to,” Maguire reminded. “You’ve really never done this with a man before?”

“No.”

“What changed your mind after all these years? You’re obviously not gay or even bisexual.”

A lift of thick shoulders, and the smile crept into hazel eyes. “Do I have to label myself something in order to have a good time with a good friend? Except for the one time you asked me twenty years ago, I would never have guessed you were bisexual either.”

Maguire nodded. “I am. Haven’t done anything about it since before I met Sharon, but I have been all my life.”

“Well,” Hooker shrugged it aside, “let’s not analyze it, let’s just enjoy each other. I think we have a lot to look forward to.”

Maguire’s arm slipped behind Hooker’s shoulders. “You’re sure you want to continue this with me?”

“I’m sure. I’m game to whatever you want, whenever you want it. We’ve got twenty years to catch up on.” Leaning back against Maguire’s arm, Hooker slid a hand over his still-protesting ribs. “Just give me a little while to heal… and then I’m all yours.”

Maguire didn’t answer with words, but leaned his face down for another kiss. This time was not hotly passionate nor did he try to penetrate, but just express warmth and friendship. Cordially Hooker returned it, and the two of them simply enjoyed their new-found intimacy.

Momentarily Hooker broke the kiss. “Hey, Paul,” he mentioned gently, eyes teasingly soft, “if you still want to go to Big Bear, why don’t we leave the kids at home this time, what do you think?”

A quick kiss to waiting lips. “I think,” Maguire responded, gaze on those moistened lips, “that’s an excellent suggestion.”

And then their open mouths met once again, and they didn’t break contact for a very long time.

  
* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *

_"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference.”_

_“The Road Not Taken”_ (1916)

 _Robert Frost_ (1874 - 1963)


End file.
